by Debra Diaz
Metellus stared at him incredulously, finally looking away and rising from the table. “I don’t know what to say, Sergius. Does anyone know? How do you expect to keep your position here?”
“I may not have it for long, but I intend to keep it as long as I can. Believe it or not, there are many Christians on this island. I hope that Barnabas or Paul, or both, will return someday to organize them. I mean, us. We need strong leaders and teachers.”
Metellus turned to face him. “Sergius, I can’t believe that you would accept this Jewish—delusion!”
“Jesus is for both Jew and Gentile. He came for the Jew first, because God made a covenant with their forefathers, but he died for all men, Metellus. Even for you…as great a skeptic as I have seen.”
“You believe because you saw a man struck blind! Any sorcerer can do such a thing!”
“Elymas was himself a sorcerer! Metellus, you had only to see what happened to know that it was the hand of God! He can make the blind to see, and he can make those who refuse to see the truth as blind as…as their spirits are!”
Metellus glared at the governor. “By the gods, Sergius, I took you for a sensible man!”
“Why this animosity, Metellus? I took you for a sensible man. You could at least rejoice with me that I have found such peace, even if you don’t believe in it.”
“Should I rejoice that you have lost your mind?”
“Metellus, listen to me, please. Do you believe in God—any god?”
“I can believe in a Creator, Sergius—a God who has perhaps always existed, but not in a man who walks on water or rises from the dead!”
“But they are one and the same, Father and Son. I will pray for you, Metellus…I do not want you to spend eternity in hell!”
“You cannot pray me out of hell,” Metellus said angrily, “and I’m just stubborn enough to rather go there…than to listen to any more of this foolishness.”
“You speak blasphemy, my friend—may God forgive you. Your stubbornness stems from pride, and until you humble yourself, you cannot see the truth.”
“Then we have nothing more to say to each other. Goodbye, Sergius.”
Metellus left the governor’s residence, more disturbed than he had been since his departure from Jerusalem. He felt helpless somehow, as if he had no defense for his own beliefs, or lack of them. He hated feeling helpless. He wished he hadn’t quarreled with his old friend—why could he not just laugh and say, Go ahead and believe what you like! That was the thing about Christians…they wanted you to believe as they did. They were determined to either talk you into it, or pray you into it!
If Rachel had failed to convince him, no one else could, either.
* * * *
The rolling motion of the sedan chair was making Megara nauseous, and she decided then and there that she would speak to Drusus about the slaves he sent to transport her from one area of the city to another. There was an art to carrying chairs and litters—these men made her feel like she was on a foundering ship! Frowning, she accepted a helping hand and stepped out, looking up and down the rows of merchants.
Jerusalem had changed little in the almost twenty years since she had been here. She had hated it then; now, it seemed a bit more interesting. Certainly, some of the buildings were beautiful, but the streets were just as narrow and congested, and the Jews still looked upon her and her retinue with disfavor. That bothered her; one never knew when a Zealot might pounce on someone of her stature…or rather, her husband’s stature…but the alternative was to remain a prisoner inside the Antonia, where Drusus had recently been assigned a tenure of unknown duration. He and the procurator didn’t seem to get along very well.
Megara spoke briefly with the goldsmith who was repairing one of her necklaces, then returned to the sedan chair and endured a dizzying excursion back to the fortress. She could have chosen to stay at Herod’s palace, which had more amenities even than the well-appointed Antonia, but it seemed advantageous to be near her husband and any reports that might come to him regarding the High Priest’s plot against the Christians.
“I will warn the child,” Megara thought, as her chair swayed sickeningly to a stop and she prepared to disembark. “As soon as I know more about these plans. I owe her…that much.”
That evening, she and Drusus dined…as usual…with the commander and his family. She liked Lysias, whom she felt had more sense than the procurator, but she couldn’t abide the whining wife or the oversexed stepdaughter. It taxed all of her restraint, of which she naturally had little, to be in the same room with them.
The meal progressed, the wine flowed, and tongues grew looser. Lysias’ wife, Phyllis, began her regular litany of complaints about the lack of good entertainment in Jerusalem. Megara recalled that, once, she had voiced the same opinions.
“There are plenty of games and theaters,” Drusus replied to Phyllis. “For a Jewish city, it is remarkably Roman.”
“Not Roman enough,” said the stepdaughter lazily, with a pouting look at Drusus. “And thanks to my stepfather, the soldiers are afraid to even look at me.”
“They look,” Megara said, with a pointed glance at Elektra’s dazzling blue gown, so thin as to be almost transparent. “They simply don’t touch. You should be thankful.”
“Well, what’s wrong with wanting a little admiration? I am completely wasted here! Mother, when are we going to leave?”
“When the weather is better, dear. I don’t want to be caught in the rain.”
“Oh, what’s a little rain? I’m simply festering!”
“You remind me of someone I used to know,” Megara commented. “Not in looks, but in manner. Lysias, you probably knew her. Her name was Salome.”
Lysias seemed amused. “I know many Salomes, but I assume you are referring to Herodias’ daughter?”
“Yes. I wonder whatever became of her, after Antipas and Herodias were banished.”
“I believe she married one of her uncles,” the commander replied. “Perhaps two of them. One loses account of all the Herods.”
“As if I would marry an uncle!” exclaimed Elektra. “I do have some vices, but incest is not among them.”
“Take care lest you disrespect the emperor,” Drusus said mildly. “Although I don’t think he married his niece because he wanted to.”
“He loathes her,” Megara said. “I happen to know that as a fact.”
“Yes, you know the imperial family so well,” Elektra replied, her voice thick with sarcasm.
Megara met her eyes. “Yes. I do.”
There was a little silence, and Lysias cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Phyllis. I think you and Elektra should leave before spring. There may be trouble with the Jews around that time. There is always some kind of violence occurring around the time of their religious celebration.”
“You see, Mother!”
“It may be more than the usual disturbance, according to the letter brought you by Metellus Petraeus,” Drusus remarked…rather imprudently, his wife thought.
“Metellus!” cried Elektra. “Do you mean that man who was here when we first arrived?”
Lysias nodded. “He was recently in the Praetorian Guard. I tried to talk him into reenlisting…I thought I could get him an appointment here. But he refused.”
Megara said cautiously, “I thought he was married to that young woman he escorted from Rome.”
“I think not. At any rate, he has left Palestine. To my knowledge, he took no one with him.”
“Married or not, he is worth a visit,” said Elektra, her eyes growing a deep, smoky blue. “He said he lived near Paphos, didn’t he? Mother, on the way home we are going to stop by a certain island!”
Megara raised a shapely eyebrow, watching as Lysias indifferently refilled his wine cup, and Phyllis chased grapes in a bowl with a heavily ringed finger. She exchanged a look with Drusus, who shrugged.
Look out, Metellus, she thought grimly. Look out, Cyprus!
* * * *
Having officiated as the Jewish High Priest for almost four years, Ananias was confident of his power, and of his righteousness. Those Nazarenes, those Christians, were leading everyone astray…they even had Pharisees among their followers! It was always with incredulity that he remembered the Christians had converted the most rigid Pharisee of them all, Paul of Tarsus. And Paul, seething with the same zeal with which he had tried to wipe out the Christians, now was their most active and ardent supporter! But not only were they perverting the people, they were not making sacrifices in the Temple, they were not paying Temple dues, and they were urging others to follow their example. Jesus, they claimed, had been the ultimate sacrifice.
Ananias had given his plan considerable thought, and last year had set it into motion when he consulted with Cumanus and Drusus. They had finally consented to make sure no massacre occurred—after all, it was in their best interests to do so. Then it had taken months to contact members of the Sicarii…through messengers of course, never directly. The assassins’ daggers were most commonly used against Romans, but they had been known to strike Roman sympathizers, and even those who simply failed to show their opposition to Rome. The Christians would fall into the last group; they were supposedly peace-loving, and had been counseled by their leaders to submit to the governing authorities inasmuch as possible, without compromising their beliefs.
His plan was simple. First, the leaders of the Christians must die. He couldn’t kill them on his own authority, and the emperor wouldn’t kill them, for he did not care enough about their religious beliefs to take an official stand against them. Claudius’ recent expulsion of the Jews from Rome had been a half-hearted gesture, rather like an annoyed father sending his quarreling children out of the room. It seemed obvious the emperor had no strong feelings about them, one way or the other. So, Ananias had thought, it was up to him to perform this distasteful but necessary task. Once the leaders were dead, the rest would become frightened, and scatter…finally, the entire cult would die.
Peter, James, John. They were three of the most important leaders…they all were currently in Jerusalem, and would most likely be here at least until the next Passover. They used such events to preach to great multitudes in the Temple, even though they had been forbidden to do so and had suffered greatly for it. Perhaps by then Paul would be here as well. He had gone on one of his journeys, seeking to spread this blasphemy…Ananias couldn’t keep track of him. But eventually he would see to it that Paul died as well, if he had to follow him to the uttermost part of the world!
It had been unexpectedly easy to enlist the services of the Sicarii…once he had agreed to donate a hefty sum to aid their cause. Ananias had supplied them with the names and descriptions of the men marked for murder. He assumed the assassins would somehow verify their identities before striking…sometime during Passover, when there was the greatest opportunity for chaos and terror.
As he sat thinking, Ananias tapped his temple with a long, crooked finger. It wouldn’t hurt to kill the man named Lazarus as well…that leader of the church in Bethany, who was himself a constant reminder of one of the Nazarene’s so-called miracles. There was a church in Bethlehem, too, and in virtually all of the surrounding villages. Other names could be added to the list! An intriguing prospect…where, indeed, did one stop?
One thing was certain—when it was over, the Christians would be so afraid for their lives, they would probably never be heard from again!
CHAPTER XX
Rachel laughed as she watched Samuel and Benjamin run beside their boats, Samuel on one side of the stream, and Benjamin on the other. Long sticks held in their hands propelled the little hand-carved boats down the stream…which was usually low and sluggish but now rushed with water from the winter rains. In fact, it was the first day in weeks that it hadn’t rained, or been uncomfortably cold and cloudy.
She gasped as Samuel got too near the edge and cried, “Be careful, Samuel—you’re running too fast!”
Benjamin slowed obligingly and, at the point where the stream curved and disappeared into the trees, allowed Samuel to win the race. The boy shouted with excitement and, again, almost fell into the stream.
“Your sleeves are soaking wet,” Rachel told him. “You should go and put on dry clothes, Samuel.”
“All right, but I want another race!”
“I think that’s enough for today—perhaps we’ll take you for a ride on Huldah.” She had brought the donkey back to Bethany…mostly, she told herself, for Samuel.
Samuel shouted again with glee and ran toward the house. Benjamin leaped lightly across the stream and rolled down his own sleeves. “Let’s walk,” he said, and fell into step beside her. They walked along the bank, the ground soft beneath their feet.
“Are you cold?” he asked solicitously, reaching out to pull her mantle more snugly across her shoulders.
Rachel shook her head. After a moment of silence, Benjamin said, “I have very much enjoyed these last few months, Rachel. And I have watched you grow more serene, and more beautiful. Thank you for allowing me these visits.”
“Could I have prevented them?” she asked, in a light tone.
His intense gaze sought her own. “No.”
Rachel looked away, but permitted him to tuck her arm through his. They entered a grove of trees, through which a path had long ago been worn. The high, pale yellow sun pierced intermittently through the branches.
“Forgive me for saying so, but you seemed happier at Simon’s house. I wonder that you don’t go to live there, Rachel.”
“I don’t want to hurt Lazarus,” she said slowly. “He has been so good to me, he’s given me so much.”
“Have you decided yet—if you would be happy with me?”
Rachel stopped walking. Benjamin held onto her arm and looked down into her face.
“I—I don’t know.”
“I think that’s the most encouraging thing you’ve said to me,” he remarked, with the same intensity in his voice that shone in his dark eyes.
“I don’t mean it as encouragement,” she answered. “I still—”
“You think you still love him. But your memory of him is fading, isn’t it?”
“No! It will never fade.”
“Rachel, you are so young. All memories fade, eventually.”
“Shall we go back now?”
They turned and began walking again.
“You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
Before she could answer, the sound of someone running along the path came to their ears, and Samuel burst into view. “There you are! Come on, I’m ready to go for a ride!”
“You take him, won’t you, Benjamin? My hands are cold—I’m going inside.”
Benjamin’s hand slid down her arm and touched her hand. “It is cold,” he said. He took both her hands in his and pressed them. “May I speak to you again before I leave?”
She nodded, and watched as he went away with Samuel. She walked slowly until she came to the clearing and sat down on the bank, heedless of the damp earth beneath her. A sigh drifted from her lips as she stared down at the stream.
No, she had not heard from Metellus. The days had dragged themselves along, and then weeks, and then months. Her prayers for him rose to heaven every day, but she had finally stopped asking for him to return. She now only prayed for his salvation, and that God’s will would be done in his life. That would include her, if it was to be so. She didn’t know any more…what to do.
When she first heard that he had left Jerusalem, she had been overwhelmed with grief. God alone had sustained her, in her despair and loneliness. And somehow he had lifted her despair so that she could live her life, she could smile and even laugh—and she could think about marrying Benjamin.
At first she would not even consider it. She had thought she could wait forever for Metellus. But he was not coming back. Perhaps he had even married someone else. Before meeting Metellus, she hadn’t cared if she ever married. But he had awakened something within
her—she wanted a husband, she wanted a family.
Benjamin loved her. He was young and strong and successful in his profession. More importantly, he was a believer.
Something Daphne had said to her had made a great impression. They had talked for a long time before Rachel returned to Bethany.
“I don’t believe it would be a sin for you to marry Metellus. But think about your children, Rachel. Perhaps he would allow you to teach them your beliefs, and take them to church meetings. But they will watch him, Rachel—they will see that he doesn’t believe. What kind of message does that give them? They will see him do and say things of which you do not approve. Oh, I know all of this is painful for you to hear! But these are things you must consider.”
Rachel had turned away to hide her tears, but Daphne caught her arm. “There is only one person who will never leave you or forsake you, and that is the Lord! If you choose to be alone, and not marry, he will sustain you. Some women have the strength and courage to do that. But it takes strength, and courage, too…to marry and have children. It is a great responsibility! And I just do not believe, Rachel, that you want to be alone for the rest of your life!”
Rachel had not answered.
“I wasn’t able to have children, but you are my daughter, just as surely as if you had been born to me. I couldn’t love you more if you were my own.”
“I know that. And I love you and Simon. I’m sorry that I was unhappy…for so long. I’m afraid I wasn’t a very good daughter.”
“God restored you, and you mustn’t let this make you unhappy again. You have your life before you.”
Yes, Rachel thought, looking across the stream at the fields and orchards in the distance. Her life was before her. She had just managed to overcome one grief, and she mustn’t let this one consume her. She would give it to God and trust him to do what was right…and to show her what was right.
Benjamin had been a frequent visitor, first with Simon and Daphne, and now with Lazarus and Judith. She had grown used to his presence, his conversation, his undeniable charm. There was something about a man who treated you as if you were a queen…who was always kind and courteous, who acted as if his only aim in life were to please you…